Its Own Reward
by Madam Chauncey
Summary: Pregnancy has Miranda feeling huge, hormonal, and decidedly unsexy. Shepard disagrees, and lets her know it in no uncertain terms. [Smut. Post-ME3.]


**Its Own Reward**

* * *

Shepard stepped into the apartment, waving his omni-tool over the door to lock it behind him. The Reapers were destroyed and their wake they left a massive shift in the galaxy, and rebuilding became more important than the petty squabbles between the different species, and he after his recovery in London he cashed in some much deserved extended leave he had accumulated from the Alliance. But that didn't mean that galactic events stopped, and while the entirety of the races were cooperating, his Spectre status still took him on missions every now and again – mostly of the diplomatic sort, because being an agent of espionage and negotiation for the strongest ruling power in the galaxy wasn't exactly something you took a sabbatical from.

And today's mission had been exceptionally pleasant—orders to follow up with the Shadow Broker about "his/her" contributions to rebuilding efforts with colonies in the Artemis Tau Cluster, Shepard mused with a smile. It was great seeing Liara; she was definitely one of his closest friends, and was even supposed to be coming for a stay next week. Only a select few of her close associates knew of her identity as the Broker, so she refused to vidcom or directly message with the Council—the Broker would only deal with Commander Shepard, and only through her most trusted agent, Feron.

Lies, of course. But he was willing to fib a little to the Council to protect Liara and everyone they both held mutually dear. In reality, he had visited her in person on Thessia, where she had set up shop to be close to her still struggling but resilient homeworld. But his official report to the Council would tell the former story.

 _Speaking of people held dear_ , Shepard craned his neck around the expansive living area that led into the kitchen, scanning for any indication of presence. No sign of her. Surprised she wasn't in immediate sight, he walked across the tiled floor and stopped at the bathroom. He slid the door open and peeped inside. The familiar floral scent of lavender struck him, and he saw the shower was slick with water, having been recently used.

She had definitely been in here, but where was she now?

He sighed, brows knitted together as he wondered. The apartment was gorgeous. Really, it was. Formerly Anderson's, but the war saw to it that the admiral wouldn't get to retire there with Kahlee Sanders one day as he had planned. So in that event, his mentor had apparently made arrangements that the lavish home be left to him. The only drawback was that it was extremely easy for two people to live together in a space this big and totally miss each other.

"Miranda?" he called her, his voice bouncing off the walls of their vast, quiet home. "I know I'm a little early, but…"

He stopped: no reply. She obviously didn't hear him, and he began to wonder if she hadn't stepped out on a 'supply run'. Her weird cravings sometimes snuck up on her, and last he was aware they were out of her usual favorites.

Then he heard it, faint, but definite. Soaring piano, moaning, groaning bass, smooth, uplifting strings, all coming softly from upstairs. He made his way in that direction, step by step up the 90-degree staircase, curious. It wasn't often that Miranda wasn't cooking when he came home, or cleaning something. Anything to keep herself busy, really. Housework wasn't her first choice, but it was about all she could do in her condition; she hated standing still, something they debated over constantly.

The instrumental swelled, deflated, then rose again, growing louder the closer he got to their bedroom. When the music finally culminated into an awe-inspiring crescendo, he was stepping through the threshold, and leaned against the doorway.

And there she was.

Miranda, who had her back to him, was standing in front of her body length mirror, arms through the thin straps of a nightie she used to wear occasionally. He couldn't see her front in the mirror from the angle he stood, but the lingerie didn't make it past her shoulder blades from behind. He got a good view of her creamy, smooth skin along her exposed body, and his eyes followed her spine as it dipped into the small of her back, twisting and turning as she checked herself at different slants.

His eyes ventured farther south to her shapely rear, the hip-hugging lace panties still fit her, but barely, the fabric stretched around her flesh, sinking between the well-rounded globes. He swallowed hard.

He recognized the music as one of Nielsen's compositions from her playing it so often, and giving him facts on how the man composed it, how old he was at the time, how much of a musical genius he had been. Most of it was Greek to Shepard; he couldn't read music, and while he had grown an appreciation for classical instrumentals through Miranda, he didn't have a technical love for symphonies and nocturnes like she did.

He was almost tempted to chuckle at the sight of Miranda trying on intimates to the sound of Carl Nielsen's thundering percussion, but instead he cleared his throat—loudly, so as to get her attention.

Miranda whipped around, visibly surprised by his intrusion and immediately reached over to shut off the sound system.

"Shepard?" the music ceased and she tried to hide her state of half-dress by folding her arms over her chest, which only succeeding in accentuating it. She quickly yanked the sheet off their bed in record time and wrapped it around herself. "I… didn't expect you home for another half hour."

He knew it wasn't her intention, but the all-consuming thought wormed its way into his brain that she really could look breathtaking in anything. He cleared his throat and at the same time cleared his mind.

"The Council sent me as an emissary to the Shadow Broker today. We wrapped up the business part fairly quickly. Then we talked personal things… Liara sends her love, and says she's looking forward to seeing all _three_ of us next week." He explained, taking a few steps toward her, looking pointedly at the very visible swell of her mid-section underneath the Egyptian cotton sheet. "Miranda… what are you doing?"

"I was… trying on an outfit I used to wear before..." she trailed off, shifting her gaze to the wall, trying to hide the pretty flush that erupted over her face. "Well, at any rate, it doesn't fit…"

Shepard grinned, closing the distance between them. "Miri, you're seven months pregnant… did you really expect it to?" He placed his hands on her shoulders, thumb massaging the skin that wasn't swaddled in the sheet. She flinched at his touch, moving away.

"Shepard…" she said, in her warning, all-business tone she used on him during the early days of their relationship as the XO he didn't see eye-to-eye with.

 _That seems like a lifetime ago_ , he thought. It was, in a way, looking at how far Miranda and himself had come since the time he spent lounging in her office, trying to convince her how much he truly cared—understood, while she would just type away endlessly at her work terminal. Never relaxing, never opening up. Until she finally did. And yet, the biotic's old habits still reared their head every now and then, more frequently as of late because of pre-natal hormones wreaking havoc on her emotions. So here she was, keeping him at arm's length like she used to.

Shepard frowned, hurt in no small measure by the distance she was putting between them. "What has gotten into you? And what's all this 'Shepard' business?" he displayed his left hand for her to see, waving his ring finger, emphasizing the silver band around it. "We're _both_ Shepard now, remember?"

Miranda balked a little, apologetic. "Sorry. You surprised me. It's a force of habit, Adam. I spent over three years calling you Shepard. We've haven't even been married a year yet; I just need some time."

His last name would still come into play every now and again, especially when Miranda was peeved with him or caught off guard. Shepard broke into a smirk, letting the topic rest. He moved closer, trying again to get skin-on-skin contact with her. He fingered the fabric draped across her chest. "Point taken. But do you really feel like you need to cover up in front of me, Miri?"

This time she turned completely around, yet again shirking his touch, and he blinked at her, dumbfounded.

"I'm _huge_ , my feet are swollen, and I can't fit into _anything_ anymore." He heard her mutter darkly, "I'm not exactly in the mood to be on display like some circus act."

"You are _pregnant_." Shepard reminded her for the second time, winding his arms around from behind, palms against her large belly. This time she didn't move away. "Not fat. It was a miracle this even happened for us. I recall someone telling me she was, and I quote, 'A sterile vessel of perfect genes that can never be passed on'. This was supposed to be impossible, but it happened. Don't tell me you're having regrets just because of swollen ankles and an erratic bladder."

"I regret nothing, but it' easy to for you to be happy all the time when you're not the one carrying a five-and-a-half-pound baby!" Miranda hissed, "You look just as good as you always have—actually, even better. But me…" she trailed off. "I just wanted to clean up a little before you got home, try to prove… I don't even know. I suppose it's natural that a man's desire for a woman slows down during her pregnancy, but…"

Nose pressed into her damp, lavender-scented ebony locks, his lips against the freshly showered skin of her neck, Shepard hummed a little, only half-listening at this point. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't be coy, Adam. I understand. It _has_ been a while since we slept together, but—"

"I sleep with you every night." he reminded her.

"You know good and well what I mean," Miranda snapped, tilting her neck away from his lips, to which he just took as a challenge to try harder. "Listen, I know I'm not exactly _sexy_ as of late, but sometimes I feel like this baby is the only thing keeping you here."

Shepard froze at that. He stopped trying to nip at her ear, and stepped back. "You're joking, right? We were married two months _before_ you got pregnant—very miraculously, I might add—and together nearly a year before that."

"I think I know when we were married, and I certainly know when I became pregnant! I also know you barely touch me anymore since getting off the sofa became a five-minute burst of exercise!"

That statement drained all the frustration out of him. He opened his mouth, then closed it, not knowing what to say. It was the farthest thing from true, of course, but what do you say to something like that? Taking his hesitation as admission, Miranda spun around, letting go of the bedsheet she had been shielding herself with, letting it pool on the hardwood floor around her feet.

"You wanted me to embarrass myself in front of you by letting you see me like this? Fine. Done."

It was the first time he had gotten a long look at her since he came home. The negligée was definitely not going around her belly, and while Miranda had always been well-endowed, pregnancy had seen her breasts enlarge another cup size, illustrated no better than by the current visual of her soft flesh spilling from the ill-fitting lace. Her long legs gave way to toned thighs, curvy hips, and Shepard couldn't help the flash of while-hot desire that shot through his entire body, curling inside and finding a home somewhere in his gut. He took her by the hands and pulled her against him, burying his face in the crook of her neck, and she relented her campaign of distance.

"What do you expect me to say? There's not a single thing you should be embarrassed about, Miri." Shepard breathed in her ear. "Because you always look amazing— _too_ amazing for your own good, actually." he clenched his jaw. "Like right after you wake up in the morning, when you're half asleep and your eyes are that dark shade of blue, and you look at me with that cute little smirk on your face… or after you shower and you're all wet and flushed, trapesing around the apartment in the shortest towel you can find… And don't get me started on right now, seeing you… Knowing that's _our_ baby you're carrying…"

He didn't have to finish. He saw something flash behind Miranda's eyes; a dangerous mix of arousal and frustration that was starting to build, layer by layer. The room quickly became too hot; she was too close without being close enough. And right before the attraction between them reached a fever pitch, she took his face in her hands and guided his lips to her full ones as they joined in a hungry kiss. She sucked in his bottom lip, taking the opportunity his parted lips provided to incorporate her tongue. Miranda's ire worked to her advantage as she quickly won dominance over him, plundering his mouth eagerly.

He hated that she felt this way; unattractive. And yeah, maybe they weren't having as much sex as they were once accustomed to, but it wasn't because he had lost interest, by any means. He felt her fingers card through his hair, massaging his scalp, the new angle allowing her kisses to become deeper, slower, slicker. He couldn't contain the throaty moan that rumbled through his chest, or the blood in his body that seemed to be rushing south all at once. She tasted like mint. He concluded after she finished another thorough sweep of his mouth that she must have brushed her teeth just before he came home. She gently pulled at his lip one last time with her teeth before drawing away from him with a wet smack, the need for air becoming too much.

Her breasts rose and fell in their too-small lace prison, face flushed from their intense contact.

"You're too good at that." He murmured, trying to catch his breath.

Miranda gave him a heated look, "You're not so bad yourself, _Commander_."

His hands ran the curves of her sides, spreading his palms against the contours of her pregnant belly, trailing down to her thighs. "I never want you to feel self-conscious, babe. You're so smart, so strong, so _damn_ beautiful… Sometimes it takes everything I have to just to keep my hands to myself."

For the first time that night, Miranda's playful smile was on display. "Is that right?"

He watched her lick her kiss-swollen lips, and pulled her flush as he could against him. "Yeah. Remember the other night when we had dinner at that nice restaurant in Zakera Ward, and I told you that asking the waiter for a side of just plain ketchup was unnecessary? You gave me a death glare so intense I'm surprised I didn't burst into flames, but I swear, I was so turned on by you staring at me like that I had to calm myself down, because I was _this_ close to dragging you with me into the restroom and taking you against a stall door."

Miranda sighed and he wondered if she could feel his developing excitement through his jeans, realizing that he had been straddling her naked thigh the entire time. Or had she deliberately pressed it against him? He couldn't be sure. "And why didn't you?"

"Your feet and back were killing you that day, remember? But more than that, you deserve better than a quickie in public restroom. That's why I don't understand why you feel like it's been so long since we've been together– we made love that next morning—yesterday morning."

"But before that it had been over a week. And I also remember yesterday morning happened in large part because I woke up early with a lot more on my mind than a good morning kiss." Miranda's voice had become lower, huskier, and her hands began to wander, fingers brushing ever-so-slightly over the fly of his jeans, deliberately teasing his noticeable swell, which, yeah, she had apparently felt near-grinding on her leg.

His wake up call that morning had been Miranda kissing and laving the skin right above the elastic of his underwear. Naturally, things got serious pretty fast.

"You certainly did," he recalled, "But you didn't hear me complaining, did you? And I'm definitely not complaining now." He caught her adventurous hand, covering it with his own, pressing it more firmly over his hardness, trying to gain some friction, trying to show her just how _bad_ he wanted her.

"You feel that?" he asked, "That's all you. You've barely even touched me, and already I'm on the verge of losing my mind."

Miranda exhaled, sounding almost frustrated. "You're playing with fire, Adam. You've got about two seconds to get on that bed before I lose _my_ mind."

"Aye, ma'am." He grinned, but only for a moment before another round of her hot kisses had him so breathless and incoherent that he was running on pure instinct, hooking his hands under the backs of her knees, lifting her off the floor. She wrapped her legs immediately around his waist as he went forward three steps, pitching them both over the edge of their bed, taking special care to be mindful of the large, swollen baby bump between them.

Shepard rolled them onto their sides, facing each other, Miranda's cobalt blue eyes betraying nothing, her smoldering gaze conveying love, lust, playfulness, and everything in between. At her core, she wasn't a woman who wore her heart on her sleeve; she didn't tell him she loved him every morning when they woke up, nor every night before they went to bed, not like he did her. But she didn't leave you to guess her feelings – you knew how she felt about you. He knew.

He cupped her cheek, using his index finger to push away a strand of dark ebony hair out of her eye.

She shifted, legs tangled with his, he guessed trying to find a position that was comfortable when one was sporting a belly so much proportionally larger than their thin frame like she was. Her ivory skin held a healthy sheen to it, a mixture of sweat from their spirited necking and that expectant mother glow she had been wearing for the past few months. Her nightie was still hiked over said belly, and due to the way she was laying, her full breasts were halfway out of the sheer material.

His mouth went dry. Gorgeous. In all honesty, his need for Miranda had increased exponentially since they learned they were expecting – even more so since she began to show. It was becoming a little embarrassing, actually. The incident the other night at the restaurant was not the first time his libido had gotten the better of him in public, either; another night before that he had taken her to Ryuuken on its grand re-opening. She loved the sushi there, and while the baby couldn't have it, he thought it would be a nice gesture to take her, anyway. He tried to get her to order whatever she wanted, but Miranda maintained she wasn't extremely hungry and ordered a light salad, but Shepard figured it was more a roundabout way of her protesting her dietary restrictions than the result of a small appetite.

And she had looked jaw-dropping that night, as she always did. Because, frankly, she looked good no matter what she decided to wear, be it a form-fitting evening gown, his t-shirts that she put on to sleep in, or even a bedsheet, as he learned today.

But she looked especially good on the night in question. She had been wearing a very tasteful maternity dress with a low-cut neckline, so when she dropped just a dab of the raspberry vinaigrette on her chest while eating, she huffed and carelessly swiped a finger across the tease of cleavage where it had landed and licked it off. Shepard's thoughts took a more carnal turn for the remainder of the evening, and he ended up ordering dessert just to kill some time before they left, because he really didn't want to get up from the table with the tent he had been pitching in full view of all the other patrons.

And then there had been the incident at the theater when they went to see one of those foreign language vids that Miranda enjoyed so much. She pressed her lips against his ear to whisper a 'thank you' for sitting through a vid she knew he wasn't interested in just so she didn't have to go alone. Those words breathed against his skin in the dark, populated room did something to him, because from that moment on, all he could think about was initiating a pretend argument about having to sit through it anyway, just so she would get mad and they could leave. They would have argued the whole way home, and later that night he could apologize and maybe coax her into emotional make-up sex. But she had been watching the vid with rapt attention, and he really didn't mind sitting through it with her, so staging a fight just so he could get a sweet 'I-forgive-you-for-being-a-jerk' lay seemed like a very deplorable thing to do, especially when it was unnecessary. Miranda never made him "earn" sex. In fact, in most instances she was the main initiator.

Next to him in bed the woman in question exhaled, exasperated with his prolonged silence. "You're over it now, aren't you? I imagine sex with a whale isn't something a man looks forward to, believe me. I just want you be honest, Adam. It won't be the end of the world, I promise. I can… _take care_ of myself if you're not up to it."

Shepard broke from his reminiscing, and squared his jaw. She spoke softly, carefully, so he knew it wasn't one of her flirty challenges or a guilt-trip; it was an honest offer to let him off the hook. And while Miranda could be terse, hard to grasp, and sometimes downright difficult, if she said she wouldn't hold it against him, she wouldn't. But he wondered what red-blooded man of sound body and mind could be in bed with a very willing, half naked Miranda and just roll over and go to sleep.

"Stop talking about yourself like that." Shepard growled. "I'm just as hot for you now as I was five minutes ago, Miri. There's no way you're ' _taking care of yourself_ ' with your husband over here about to _explode_."

She hummed approvingly, moving her leg against his erogenous zone. "Yet you're still dressed, and I'm half naked, waiting. I suggest you do something to fix that."

He snapped to his order like a good marine; rolling carefully on top of her, straddling the leg that had been teasing him. He shrugged off his jacket and peeled himself out of his shirt, tossing them across the room. Miranda sat up as best she could, raking her hands down the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, stopping at the light hairs right above his belt. Shepard shivered at her light touches, though his skin felt like it had caught fire at every place she came in contact with. Her eyes searched his, as if looking for any sign of disapproval, which he gave her none of.

She unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly. He inhaled sharply as the pressure against his rigid length dissipated, and he helped her remove both his jeans and his damp briefs until those became discarded on the pile he had already started, and there he was, completely naked in front of her, as he had been many times before. But somehow the strong sensation of intimacy that came with baring it all to her never dulled, and his chest tightened as the realization careened through him that _he was hers_.

The room wasn't cold by any means, but it was still cooler than his hot, newly exposed skin. Miranda's hand skirted up his thigh.

"Are you sure me being big and hormonal like this doesn't put you off? Even just a little?"

Shepard gave her a look, gesturing below his waist. "Do I _look_ like I'm put off?"

Miranda was now using her thumb to massage a small circle on his leg, and she was so close to where he so desperately wanted her that he had to stop himself from rolling his hips in an effort to get some much desired contact.

"No, you don't," she admitted, seemingly unaware, "But you're a romantic, and our connection is a big part of what gets you hot and bothered. I don't want a part of you to be cringing in while we're in bed just to satisfy me; I want to make sure your needs are being met, too."

A huff on his part. "You're worried that sex with you while you're pregnant disgusts me? That I'm not _enjoying_ myself?" Shepard shook his head in disbelief. "God, Miri, no. That has me wanting you more than I ever have. If it I seem uninterested in sex, it's only because I know you have aches and pains now, and you get tired earlier. I didn't want you to think I was more concerned about my libido than your comfort. And… I wasn't exactly sure if what I was feeling was normal or not, so I didn't mention it."

"So, in short, you're saying you have a fetish for pregnant women?" Miranda teased, her hand going dangerously farther up his thigh.

The Commander released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding, eyeballing her explorative hand. "Just _one_ , actually."

Miranda's playful attitude morphed into something heavier, headier, as her intrepid fingers brushed against the head of his half-hard length, and Shepard couldn't muzzle the embarrassingly loud moan that escaped from deep in his belly. "Then get down here and kiss me." She ordered. "I think we've both waited long enough."

He groaned, agreeing wholeheartedly, and spread out against her side so he wasn't laying directly on top of the baby between them, holding himself up with his left elbow. She captured his lips in a needy, sloppy kiss, soft hand palming his hot flesh against her leg.

So much for half-hard.

Her hand enclosed around his thick shaft as best she could and began to pump from root to tip, flicking her wrist before sliding back down. He keened into her mouth as she worked him over, and after the fourth drive, he ended their kiss abruptly, feeling the tell-tale slickness of his arousal between them. Now, he had good stamina, but he knew he was too close to be able to endure her doing _that_ for very long.

"S-slow down, please," he panted, nuzzling her cheek, "As amazing as that feels, this will be over way quicker than you deserve if you don't stop."

Miranda wasn't usually one for following orders outside a professional context, at least not without a little complaining first, but surprisingly, he felt her hand leave his rigid member without another word. He definitely missed her touch the moment it was gone, but kissed the corner of her mouth as a silent thank-you.

"As much as I love seeing you spilling out of that nightie, I think it's time to peel you out of it." He commented, his own finger sliding underneath the lace of her panties, and realized with a reasonable amount of pride that the fabric was moist to the touch. She was enjoying the foreplay just as much as he was.

Miranda began to remove her top, which Shepard helped with, then he slid the lacy bottoms down her thighs, tossing them in the direction of his discarded clothes.

He took her right breast, kneading the warm flesh in his large hand, eliciting a gasp from her, then kissed and licked his way down the sweaty, slightly salty skin in the valley of her cleavage. Miranda's breathing got heavier, choppier as he nipped his way down then up the arc of her pregnant belly, dipping his tongue briefly in her navel. He kept his eyes locked onto hers as he went, and she watched him, biting her bottom lip like she was trying not to make too much noise. There was something indescribably hot about her when she was attempting to maintain her decorum while they were in bed, and it made it all the more satisfying when she finally would give up and let go.

Shepard finally made it to her center, hovering over her arousal and blew lightly on it, but made sure not to get any closer.

" _Adam_ ," she wrapped his name around a beautiful moan, hips rolling, trying to gain closer proximity. But he maintained his distance from that particular area, moving down her body until he reached her slightly bent knee. He kissed his way up her inner thigh, suctioning every so often, Miranda's musical mewls filling his ears as he licked and pecked his way back up towards her juncture.

"Nobody likes a tease," she huffed airily, lifting her legs slightly, locking her ankles at his shoulder blades.

Shepard laughed. "You sure about that, Miri? Sounds like you like this tease quite a bit."

To make his point, he gently pinched her leg dangerously close to her womanhood, then licked the half-moon shaped mark with his tongue to soothe the lightly inflamed area. Her long fingers found his head, raking through his short hair, pulling gently.

"I love this tease, actually. Now, p-please... Hands, mouth—I don't care. Just _touch_ me."

It was very uncustomary for Miranda to beg for anything. It simply wasn't in her nature, and honestly, she didn't _need_ to. He was more than happy to give her anything she wanted, but admittedly, hearing the love of his life plead for him in that gorgeous accent of hers was more than enough to make the slow burning desire festering in his core violently combust. This foreplay was showing in no uncertain terms that she definitely wasn't the only impatient one; the entire time his mouth had been on her, her breathing, moans, and movements had been driving him wild. So much so that he had at some point started rutting against their mattress to take the edge off his own aching need.

Another tug on his hair reminded him his wife was waiting petulantly for him to make up his mind if he was going to indulge her or not.

Which, of course he did. His long digit found her folds, sinking into her sensitive flesh. He found her slick and throbbing, which in turn made his own hardness twitch between his stomach and the sheets.

Miranda's lips parted into an 'o' shape, a shuddering gasp escaping from her as his finger breached her, inching inward slowly. She arched off the bed and screwed her eyes shut.

Shepard spoke to her in a soft, entreating tone. "Don't. I want you to look at me."

Her eyes fluttered open, and looked intensely into his from behind long lashes. His heart raced with the thrill that it was _his_ touch that made her fall apart, and vice versa. It was something he didn't think he could ever take for granted, the slow burn, the heat between them, the connection they had. There are a dozen different words used to refer to intercourse—sex, screwing, fornication, but they were empty rhetoric; words that failed to truly describe what transpired between them.

Clichés and trite, empty phrases be damned; they made love—always had.

He added a second finger, crooking them inside her hot, wet walls, and underneath him she cried out, tugging against his scalp, teeth chewing her bottom lip, and then he stopped.

All he could hear was Miranda gasping, breasts rising and falling from exertion. He gave her a moment to recover before his head disappeared between her legs, and his tongue licked a long trail along her soaked sex, the warm muscle prodding, searching, the tang of her in his mouth. Miranda panted his name, bucking into his mouth as she pressed his head farther down into her apex.

"S-so good..." She managed to breathe, hands now gentler, stroking his head rather than yanking as he kissed and nipped at her folds. He could feel her thighs tremble from where they had locked around his neck, her insides began tightening: she was getting close.

He was so excited about being a dad, but this was one particular time when he almost wished the bump wasn't there, because deep between her legs as he was, he couldn't see her face, and he was sure she couldn't see his. And he really wanted to glance up and appreciate her flushed cheeks, head tossed back against the pillows as she let go of that maintained control and just allowed herself to _feel_. He continued to lap at her sensitive center, the taste of her egging him to go deeper, but at the same time he was getting close again himself

Shepard pulled away when he felt her inner muscles clench almost violently, and he heard her exhale gratingly as she was denied completion.

"You're an evil man," she near sobbed, her tone harboring no actual malice as he sat back on his haunches to admire his work. She was as enticing as he imagined, sweaty, whole body arching. He placed a comforting hand on her knee, sliding it down her calf and back up again.

"I don't mean to be," he told her, "I just didn't think I'd be able to last one more minute; those amazing noises you were making were about to push me off the edge, and I didn't want it to end with us not being able to see each other, not connected."

"Then hurry up."

She didn't have to tell him twice. Shepard stretched forward and claimed her lips, giving her a taste of herself on his mouth, the liplock feeling chaste compared to their earlier activities, and she swiped her tongue across his chin, cleaning him of the last of her own fluids. He saved one solitary peck for her cheek. "How do you want it, Miri?"

Sex with pregnant Miranda was just as great as it had been before she was, but it _was_ different. Her body was different, and sometimes normal positions were the most difficult, which he supposed was the true culprit behind why their lovemaking was so infrequent at times. So they had been experimenting, with no real definitive results.

Miranda flattened her palms against his toned chest, stroking the warm skin. "Me on top. Facing you."

The tried and true. She liked being on top; he was sure it stemmed from her unwillingness to relinquish control. Not to say he was _never_ in the driver's seat, but the sex was spectacular regardless of who was under who, so Shepard didn't battle her either way. It, however, wasn't the most accommodating for Miranda in these later months of her term; the most comfortable they had found was their usual formula, but with her facing away from him so her belly wasn't jammed between two rutting bodies; though neither she nor he was a fan of that one aside from the fact it was less strenuous. As attractive as her backside was, he wanted to be able to kiss her lips if the urge overtook him, or just watch her expression change the more blissed out she became. Granted, doing the former was still difficult, but they made it work.

"You sure?" he couldn't resist rubbing her belly as he asked for reconfirmation, "I know it's not the easiest for you. I'm more than capable of setting the pace."

She flashed him that classic Miranda suggestive smirk. "You certainly are," her pitch lowered, saturated with desire. "l but I feel closer to you doing it that way than out of all the other ways we've tried these past few months. So… please?"

And that was all it took. She had said that word a couple of times already, but it was in a moment of sultry frustration. This was a genuine request, from a woman who didn't often ask anyone for permission to do _anything_.

How exactly was he supposed to say no to the sexiest woman in the galaxy, the _mother of his child_ , asking to ride him like the greatest joy in her life would be bouncing on his lap until he had forgotten everything but her name?

The thought alone was almost Shepard's undoing. He held onto her waist and slowly rolled them over so their positions were reversed, with her straddling him.

"That always works on you," she pointed out with no small measure of smugness, rolling her hips against him.

Shepard hissed as her warm, wet folds brushed his swollen length. "Y-You act like you on top is a rare occurrence."

"Maybe not, but you've put up a fight a few times, worried about me. I knew the p-word would speed things up a bit."

It never ceased to amaze him how she could go from desperate and needy to confident and in control at the drop of a dime.

Shepard braced his left arm behind himself so he could sit up. "It always tires you out; that's _my_ concern."

"I can't think of a better way to get in a little exercise." came her counter.

How could he argue with that logic?

He spread his legs further apart, bending them slightly, hoping she'd take the hint, which she did. Both hands reached behind and gripped his knees, lifting herself with her legs, but using the bonus leverage so most of the strain would fall on him instead of her. Although the few times she had ridden him like this, she ended up sore in the morning anyway, but this was how she wanted it, so he would try and make it as easy on her as possible. The hand not holding him in his sitting position interlocked with hers on his leg, giving it a squeeze, a reminder that this was a joint effort as she placed herself over him.

Miranda inhaled and exhaled through her nose as she began to sink down, a broken gasp shuddering through her as the blunt head of his thick shaft breached her slick folds.

Shepard felt sweat break out on the nape of his neck, and his hand that had started gripping the sheets made it to one of her upper thighs planted on either side of his waist, stroking it comfortingly.

"You—" a groan as the former operative sank down another inch, "A-are you alright?"

Miranda's breath hitched, arching against him, continuing her slow decent down. "I-I'm fine, you're just- " another sharp intake of air, "—a _lot_ to take in. I'm not a porcelain doll, so stop worrying."

His already fuzzy head swam with the compliment on his size, but immediately after came the prickle of indignation at the fact she was acting like his concern was offensive. The latter won out as his hand once again moved behind to fortify his sitting position. "I'm allowed to worry ab—"

Then he was cut off as Miranda seated herself fully onto him. He slid home; she had taken every bit of him, and he completely forgot about everything else as her tight walls surrounded him, warm and wet and _wonderful_. She really _did_ feel like home; comparable to the first deep breath he took at the threshold after a long time away.

Miranda's head went back as she moaned his name, her grip on his hand and knee tightening, breasts bouncing as she writhed above him, his shaft stretching her out as she stilled, trying to accommodate his shape and size. She bit her bottom lip, screwing her eyes shut, and as much as Shepard wanted to buck up into her, he stayed statue still, giving her the time she needed to adjust to him. They had done this many times, but she still fit him like a glove, and frankly, he felt like the smallest movement from either one of them would bring everything to a premature end.

"God, Miri. You look… Incredible." He managed.

She released a shaky sigh at the compliment. "You _feel_ incredible."

Then she started to move. He could feel the muscles in her loins tighten as she rose about halfway up, then dropped back down to the root, while he arched up into her on the downstroke. After she became comfortable with the pace she set, she used the leverage she had to lift up until just his tip remained inside her, and dropped herself heavily back down with a with a deep intake of air. An unspoken system of give and take was adopted—her lifting and pressing down, him rolling his hips to meet her.

She opened her eyes, catching his as they moved in tandem. Her vibrant blue irises were hazy, clouded with an emotion he couldn't identify, pupils blown as she rode him hard, grinding down on his lap when he bottomed out. On one particularly deep return thrust into her, he found her sensitive bundle of nerves, and she practically sobbed and contracted violently around him, taking his breath as her walls pulsed around him. He throbbed within her; he knew the both of them were close. Her short, manicured nails dug into the flesh of his legs as the wave of pleasure consumed her.

"You're... So… More..." her speech had become pretty much incoherent; incomplete thoughts and single words strung together between intakes of air.

She had stopped moving, needing a second to recover. After a moment Miranda started to move again, slowly unsheathing herself, then filling herself back up, before her own need drove her to begin bouncing harder on his lap. He parted his lips, wanting to say something, wanting to tell her how fantastic she was, how amazing she felt, but the words wouldn't come, and instead became a deep exhalation. It was all too much; the way she looked, the way she sounded, and the eyeful he received when he glanced down to where they joined over and over again; her sinking and lifting over him, where she began and he ended indistinguishable. That vision alone was nearly enough to make him blow everything right then and there, never mind the fact that she was already tipping him over the line at it was. She encased him, tight and hot, as their slick bodies moved together as one.

"I-I'm close," he barely heard her tell him.

Shepard shuddered, his muscles and nerves in overdrive. "Yeah. Me too."

She rose up, then impaled herself on his aching member yet again, and he met her coming down with another hard drive into her cervix. And then he felt her clench one last time as her climax was triggered. He got the sensation she was _pulling_ him in, _squeezing_. His toes curled as her peak triggered his, and Shepard's own orgasm rocked him to his core, sucking the air from his lungs as he twitched and throbbed and came inside of her with a shameless choked near-sob that was little more than a breathless attempt at her name.

Miranda's hips continued to rock against his, seeking a little more friction, trying to milk him for everything he had. A few more shallow pushes saw them both riding their peaks out until their conclusion, and the woman above him sighed, exhausted and sated as she came down from her high. Shepard tried to blink away a sudden bleariness in his vision, and he wasn't sure if it was from emotion, his intense orgasm, the sweat that clung to his brow, or a combination of all three. His hands let go of hers for the first time since just before their lovemaking began so he could swipe his knuckles across his damp forehead, clearing his vision. Her own shaky hands started to massage his perspiration slick, trembling thighs, from just above his knee to where that awe-inspiring backside of hers sat on his lap.

She smiled at him, still trying to reel air into her lungs. "I-I think I deserve… a kiss…"

He grinned boyishly at her in response, and went to lean in, but realized her large belly was getting in the way at this angle. Not that a kiss wasn't possible, but he wanted her to be comfortable as she could be. Miranda came to the same conclusion, so she got off of him, moving slowly to lie on her side next to him, the both of them making a noise of discontent as he felt himself slip out of her with a lewd, slippery sound, and he instantly missed the connection when it was gone.

He leaned over and slotted his mouth against hers, kissing her deeply. It wasn't wet, there were no tongues, but it was long, genuine, and he savored the affection between them while it lasted. When he pulled away, her eyes were glazed over.

"I love you."

It's not like she never said it, not like he didn't already know, but there was always a feeling of natural euphoria when she did. Elated, Shepard licked his lips, then pressed them to her cheek, jaw, and then ear.

"Love you, too. That was amazing, Miri. _You're_ amazing."

Her fingers raveled around his neck, playing with the short, damp strands at his nape. "You were pretty spectacular yourself. Seven months later and we're finally getting the hang of pregnant sex."

Shepard clicked his tongue. "What do you mean?"

Miranda pushed him back so she could see his face. "Oh come on. Even you have to admit we've had some awkward moments in bed. Remember all the experimenting?"

It was true; there were some times where it had been hard, even downright strange. Even her on top like she just was had its cons. But nothing worth having was ever easy. Miranda's body brought a new set of challenges, but nothing insurmountable, and nothing that wasn't its own reward in the end.

But still, he sought validation. "Yeah, but it was still good for you, right?"

"It's always better than just good, even when it's difficult. This was more like life-changing."

Shepard sighed in agreement as her fingers on his sensitive scalp lulled him into a state of calm. "Remember me after London with my injuries? Same thing; you have to re-learn sex when your body changes. But luckily you took care of me… when you finally decided it was safe to touch me again."

Miranda rolled her eyes. "You had severe bruising all over your body, with a broken tibia. Did you really think you could go straight back into rolling around in the sheets with me after all that trauma?"

Shepard grimaced; she made it sound like he woke up wanting celebratory sex. Which, yeah, he kinda did, but he understood his health—and Miranda—wouldn't allow it. But they found loopholes; when he finally came home there had been a lot of heavy petting and enterprising tongues to make up for what he couldn't do.

"Of course not, but yet we found ways to take baby steps. That's what you did for me then and that's what I'm trying to do for you."

"I realize that now. "

"Good." Shepard scooted down until he was eye-level with her bump, and kissed it. After a moment, his eyes flashed back to Miranda. "Have I told you lately how excited I am?"

"Only every day," she reminded him, rolling her eyes, but he could tell there was no ire behind it. He came back up to her, but his hand remained on her swollen stomach, rubbing it. Then, to his joy, he felt a distinct thump against his palm.

"Now you've gotten her started." Miranda told him. "Every time you touch her she starts kicking. I won't get any peace all night now." She paused, switching gears, as if deciding her faux chiding was too harsh. "… You're going to be a great father; I can already tell."

 _Better than mine_.

She didn't say that, but Shepard wondered if that was always an understood tacked to the end of that statement like he imagined it was. She didn't talk about Henry Lawson much, which was just fine with him, because he didn't want Miranda dwelling on the pain of the past, or the scars that came from an entire childhood with a man who saw her as some kind of lab experiment, a ward to further his longevity. It was Shepard's goal to fill her life with so much love and happiness that she didn't care to remember anything from that time.

"And you're going to be a great mom," he added.

Miranda moved her leg closer to him, brushing the top of his foot with the pad of hers. "I'm certainly going to give it my all."

"And you'll be amazing," he persisted, the two of them playing full-blown footsy. "I've seen you with Oriana; your maternal instinct is definitely there. I hope she turns out just like you, too- smart, beautiful, strong. The world won't stand a chance with mini Miranda running loose."

"Says her father, Savior of the Galaxy." She reminded him, with no small measure of amusement. "But I won't mind one bit if she takes after you instead."

It was strange, playfully debating which one of them their child would resemble more strongly, but a good strange.

"Well, I guess no matter which one of us she favors, she'll be fine."

Miranda then cocked her head to the side, a question in her eyes. "So… are you happy with a girl?" she prodded. "Or did you always imagine having a boy?"

"Honestly, I always thought that as long as he/she has ten fingers and ten toes, I'd happy… But now, a little girl feels right. Mom's on cloud nine, too."

It then occurred to him that his immediate family would consist of all women with the exception of him. He was going to be outnumbered three-to-one; he would never win an argument if mom, daughter and grandmother decided to team up.

Miranda droned contentedly, "I'm glad, but I guess it's moot at this point, anyway."

This was the point in the conversation when he would usually remind her they desperately needed to pin down a name, but that always ended up being a two hour brainstorming session, so he filed it away for another time.

He then noticed her starting to get up, but quickly got her by the shoulder and pressed her back down.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Her brows narrowed. "I'm hungry. I thought I would go make dinner like I was planning to over an hour ago."

Shepard shook his head. "I'll do that. Tonight is about you. Just sit back and let me take care of everything."

Miranda huffed. "Tonight was supposed to be about _you_ , actually. Then I got a little sidetracked when I came up to get dressed, and you came home earlier than you said you were."

Suddenly the pieces started to fit. "So you freshly showered and trying on lingerie was… for me?" he couldn't help but laugh a little, and Miranda sent him a death glare.

"Yes, well, I was trying to find an outfit to wear for you later tonight after dinner, until I realized how ridiculous I looked in everything."

He decided to leave her self-deprecating remark alone for now in lieu of the bigger issue. "So all that effort was for…?"

"God, Adam, do I have to spell it out? I was feeling like a disgusting cow, so I wanted to plan out a special night so I could prove to myself I was still able to get you in the mood. But I'm _so_ glad you find it absurd."

He wasn't sure why, but the knowledge that she went through all this trouble just to seduce him made him feel special. The fact that it was born out of a bout of insecurity worried him, but it was the notion that she desired him, pursued him, even still when she already had him in every way one can be had by another. When someone did that it was a sign they took nothing for granted. Miranda was exceptionally good at that; the little things she did that reminded him she loved him.

Shepard shook his head leaned over, pecking her on cheek. "Not absurd. Just unnecessary. Like I said earlier, you don't need anything extra to make me want you; just being Miranda is more than enough… But effort was definitely noticed; you smelled great, looked great."

"Well, I'm glad one thing went according to plan, at least."

He nuzzled her cheek. "That bed sheet was a nice touch, too. Got me worked up pretty good."

Her suggestive smirk made a return. "That's an understatement." After a moment of pause, the upturned corners of her mouth relented and her expression softened. "And… sorry for being so crazy earlier. Thank you for being understanding. These hormones throw me off balance; you know better than anyone I don't like feeling out of control of my emotions."

Shepard spoke into her ear. "I know, babe. No apology needed. I have my own moments. Trust me, whatever I give, I get back double from you."

The mattress groaned a bit as Miranda shifted, grunting as she sat up with her back against the headboard. She pursed her pillowy lips, looking very pensive, then she started. "You know, if someone would have told me that day they put Commander Shepard on my operating table that not even four years later I would be married to him and carrying his child, I probably would have incapacitated them with a well placed-biotic blast."

Shepard could nearly picture that, and the image in his head made him chuckle, but Miranda's absorbed expression told him she didn't really mean it to be funny.

"Was the thought of building a life with me that offensive?" he joked.

Miranda didn't laugh.

"You were a more a puzzle than a person to me at the time. I was only focused on my work, and you know I was too closed off to have been a good match for you back then." She looked him straight in the eye, "But then you woke up, handsome, capable, there when Ori and I needed you, and so maddeningly persistent that I became too wore down to give you the brush-off anymore. So like it or not, you're in this for the long haul, _Commander_ , for as long as I want you, which if my projections are correct, is looking to be indefinitely."

Shepard's chest swelled, and he brushed a strand of damp, sex mused hair off to the side where she usually kept it parted. "You have me, Miranda; you always did, always will. Now, we managed to work through several issues and had mind-blowing sex on top of that. I'm at your beck and call for the rest of the night, so what's next for my two best girls?"

Miranda traced a finger down the indentation of muscle between his hard pectorals, and a shiver coursed up his spine under her touch.

"I think you should go fix me a sandwich worthy of the orgasm you just had, then get your ass back in this bed so the three of us can go to sleep early. How does that sound?"

He smiled automatically, and couldn't stop himself from surging over to her, kissing those impossibly soft lips one more time, palm settling over the swell between them that contained the life they had created together. Saren, Collectors, Cerberus, Reapers… _this_ made everything worth it. This is what he had fought for.

"Kind of perfect, actually." He mumbled his answer against her lips.

* * *

 **This is the first time I've written anything remotely like this. Blame it on a KinkMeme prompt in which Male Shepard's LI is pregnant and feeling unsexy until a long, drawn out night of passion shows her how he really feels. And naturally, due to the fact that MaleShep/Miranda is my Mass Effect OTP, and there are criminally few fluff or smut stories written with them, to speak nothing of the good ones, I felt like she was my natural choice for this fill. I know this was a lot more emotionally-charged than most smuts, but that was intentional and I hope it blended well together.**

 **I tried to keep the both of them in-character, so I'd appreciate a review from you on whether I succeeded or not,** **and please let me know about any other comments, questions, concerns, or constructive criticisms you may have. Reviews make me very happy.**


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